Elephants in the Room
by HarlequinStarling
Summary: The pleasure, he insisted upon their meeting, was very much his. But Carthrine, in both her wisdom and stubborness, would not believe him. For she saw a monster in the making, long before the truth was out... And she would not have him any other way. Loki/OC. Slight sadism/masochism in later chapters, and very explicit.
1. Introduction

Carthrine is young, but not blind.

Her world had always been filled with the hidden atrocities that she searched for every day, hidden amongst the cracks of aristocracy, but never fully revealed. She was born into the highest of royalty, and knew well what would probably greet her in Asgard; her ideas of what their world would be like were nothing short of exact.

On her home world, Vardheim, appearances manage to be everything. Entire buildings are designed in order to compliment the features of their occupants. Carthrine herself has her own personal section of the palace that was made to accentuate her every pose and gesture in the most attractive way possible. Maybe this is why Carthrine's appearance was so different here to the Asgardians; they are simply seeing her in the wrong light.

Never, though, did Carthrine resign to adapting her appearance to the golds and warmths of Asgard. She refused the closets and chests that were nearly forced upon her, and she ignored the persistent remarks among the servants that her hair would look better in a darker, "natural" blonde. And the one thing they couldn't change, even if they wished to, were her lips. Her dark lips, nearly black against her pale skin. This was a mark of royalty, but she did not value it before as she did now; now, when she looks in the mirror, she smiles extra wide and enjoys the sight of her unchangeable grin.

So, why, if she disliked it so much, was Carthrine here in this room filled with feathered pillows and shining drapery and other grandiose features that were ugly to her?

Her father was to blame.

Asgard and Vardheim were two very, very different worlds. Almost as different as honey and vinegar, as her father once described. And seeing as the two realms were filled with such powerful gods and goddesses, it seemed as if they had somewhere went wrong down the line of their relations. Asgard was known as a land of peace after the war on Midgard with the Jotun; Vardheim, on the other hand, was filled with a taste of unrest and vice that penetrated its dark, smoldering beauty. Her father was, by far, a true man of his ambition, and was not afraid to take drastic measures in order to secure his status. But he also was a man for his people, and when he saw the success of Asgard as a kingdom, he knew it would be in his best interest to seek their counsel immediately.

So in his place, he sent his daughter, his only child, Carthrine. Her goal was to forge a bond through her stay there between the Asgardians and the people of Vardheim. Both he and Odin (king of Asgard), through messages sent back and forth, agreed that her stay would prove beneficial to both parties in the bargain. And both (Odin especially) harbored hopes that Carthrine and Odin's eldest son would form an attachment to strengthen that bond even further.

We shall not go into Carthrine's first encounter with Thor. But let it suffice to say that she did not find him attractive in the way she wanted. Not in the very least.

Afterwards, Carthrine spent four days in the chambers that had been readied for her. Thinking. Not reading, or painted, or writing as she loved to do back in her home. Just filing away her thoughts. Her four handmaidens that accompanied her spent close to hours attempting to distract her attentions; Rionne, the head of Carthrine's staff and her personal maid and confidant, had tried only to get her mistress to speak. But Carthrine knew she must take her time as needed, and soon, the maidens gave up.

The princess knew she could not satisfy her father's wishes to marry this prince of Asgard. But she also knew there was harm to be caused if she cut short her visit so quickly without effort.

So, on her fifth day, she called her handmaidens to her side for the first time, and began thinking about what she would wear.

* * *

Four sheets of leather later, and Carthrine was still not ready

Her hips lay snug in a tight-fitting layer of the finest leather from Vardheim, and her breasts were heaving nervously under the strain of the boned corsette that Clarin, her youngest handmaiden, was weaving shut across her back. Rionne was working diligently beside her with a brush, smoothing the kinks in the curly locks of blonde that flowed across her shoulders. And yet all of these assurances of her finely-tuned appearance could not assuage her from worry.

If you had asked her now, Rionne would probably admit that this was the first time she had ever witnessed her mistress showing signs of fear.

But who could blame her?, she thought. Rionne herself felt the oddness of this world pressing on her each day; her lady probably felt it tenfold in light of the burden she was given. At this thought, Rionne stopped her brushing for a moment, and lightly stroked a stray lock of hair into place with her fingers. At this gesture of comfort, Carthrine smiled, if only slightly. Rionne resumed brushing.

The doors to her room swung open, and Frigga, the queen herself, glided in, the grace of millennia of practice pushing her across the floor. Without hesitation, Carthrine bowed her head and bent to a curtsy, as did her handmaidens one by one. But Frigga immediately beckoned them to rise, and then Carthrine saw her smile. It was a smile, she thought, that a mother would have as she sent her daughter off to her first ball. And in actuality, this was probably the closest thing that the queen would ever get to it. Two sons, no daughters, she thought to herself. Must be a lot less hassle with dresses.

"So shall there be many present tonight at the gathering, Queen Frigga?" she spoke, her tone losing its clipped wintriness and warming to the woman's presence. "I daresay I am not looking forward to this much, and I would prefer my embarrassment to be witnessed by as few people as possible."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Frigga said firmly, and, fingers grasping, she took the brush from Rionne's hand and set it on the table. "You are lovely as you are. And while the kingdom sleeps for the most part, there are quite a few who have stayed to welcome you personally tonight."

"Marvelous," Carthrine sighed. "I should have worn the blue."

"Absolutely not," Rionne cut in sharply, "The blue was much too wound up for an event such as this. Stop second guessing yourself, mistress."

Frigga chuckled into the back of her hand. "You should listen to your maid, Carthrine. She has a fine sense of occasion herself."

"That is why she will be accompanying me tonight, if that is alright with you, Queen." When Frigga nodded, Carthrine continued: "I could not survive without her gratuitous inputs on the quality of fashion in Asgard."

She looked in the mirror once again, decidedly pleased and yet so unsure. She thought that once her outfit was together, her courage could be mustered. But it hadn't. It wasn't. And she could not fathom the reason why."

"If I may beg a few more seconds alone, Queen Frigga. I will accompany Rionne shortly."

The queen nodded her approval, and along with Carthrine's attendants, she disappeared down the hall, heels clicking against the smooth gold in a quiet rhythm.

When her footsteps could no longer be heard, Carthrine turned back to the mirror and slowly sank to her knees, exhausted merely from the preparation and the anxiety that wracked her. A quick shiver flew up her spine, surprising her, like the prickling of a needle along each vertebra. And suddenly the cause of her unease was known.

She was being watched.

Whipping herself around, her fingers clutching at a dagger hidden within the folds of her skirt, she prepared to face the person who must have been looming somewhere in her quarters. Instead, as she scanned the room, she was met with nothing but the feeling of empty, quiet space, the feeling now gone. Chest pounding, she sank even further to the ground, lying prone across the marble and closing her eyes briefly. She knew it was time for her to face fear. But she could not will her legs to move just yet.

She stayed there until her heart calmed again. Then, sighing quietly, she straightened herself up, and combed through her own hair one last time.

She was out of her depth, yes. Far out of her element.

Another look in the mirror.

…but she be damned if she would let it get the best of her tonight.

* * *

Banquet halls in Asgard seem to always be made of gold.

Everything, and when Carthrine says everything, she means everything, was made of the same gleaming shades of gold, from the chairs and the floor to the tables and (in the name of her father, she swears) even most of the food. Carthrine was taken aback by the decadence, but not in awe; rather, she noted that it did nothing at all to make the royal family seem any grander than they already appeared. Mind you, in Carthrine's opinion, Frigga did look stunning; her deep blue gown gave the aging goddess a fresh and elegant visage. In contrast, that is, to her husband, who sat close to her along the grand table.

Carthrine's first impression of King Odin (or, as he preferred to be called, "All-Father") was that he certainly was an unyielding man; the way that he commanded and chastised reminded her of her own father back home, although much less sarcastic and crude. And while his authoritative behavior set Carthrine on her guard at first, she soon realized that Odin's anger and strictness was directed more towards a specific person. A certain blonde thunder-wielding prince.

And with very good reason, she might add.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, the man in question made his appearance in the ballroom, and every lady within visible distance grew weaker in their knees. Everyone, that is, except Carthrine. And Rionne, she noticed, who remained standing erect at her side, a look of amusement on her pointed features.

Carthrine's eyes followed the approaching prince with that same cold amusement; she could not fathom, not even in the slightest, how he could be so bold and brave…and still look so ridiculous.

Stopping before her chair at the table, Prince Thor beckoned for her hand.

"Lady Catherine," he began, his tone louder than the others around her, "In celebration of your appearance tonight, it would be nothing short of sin to not ask for a dance." He smiled, no, grinned, like a boy asking a girl to kiss for the first time.

Carthrine returned his warmth with a well-crafted smile of her own, replying "I would if possibly, prince, but I feel that this is not the time. You see?" She gestured to the instruments that lay in the corner, to be untouched by their players till the evening grew much longer. "There is no music now."

Thor laughed boisterously, and moved to clap her shoulder. Deciding against it, he grasped her hand and pulled her sharply to his chest.

"I do not know how things may work on Vardheim, my lady," he said into her ear, "But here, when a beautiful lady wishes to dance, it is a gentleman's duty to grant it, inconveniences aside!"

_But I do not wish to!_ Carthrine's mind screamed, but Thor was already calling for the men to string their bows, and she knew she would be a fool not to accept. Swallowing her sighs, she nodded goodbye to Rionne and accompanied the prince to the raised circle (made of solid gold, she noted, of course), and settled into his strong frame as the music slowly began.

Carthrine was now aware of the eyes of everyone, male and female, resting on her for the first time. She felt the stinging on the back of her neck, and to distract herself, she turned her own eyes to the man that was swaying her steadily, back and forth. As if sensing her prompt, Thor spoke.

"So how do you find Asgard so far, my lady?" he questioned, ignoring her sharp inhale of breath as he accidentally trod on her foot. "Is it as splendid as your father must have described it, or possibly even more so?

"You have no idea, Prince Thor," Carthrine replied simply, and she smiled inwardly as she remembered the talks her father had given here before her leave, how he had called it 'an obnoxious land of fighting fools with pride the size of their helmets'.

Thor continued: "You must let me show you the forests outside the palace gates. There is much to be seen, and many experiences you shall not regret. I shall prepare a horse for you tomorrow-," Thor spun her once, and her heart was pounding with nerves, nerves that he was taking her answers for more than they were worth. But, upon seeing the look of unease on her face, Thor relented. "Perhaps a better time. When you are more used to this world and its people, and myself, for that matter."

"Thank you, Prince Thor," Carthrine released the breath she had caught in her lungs. Looking into his eyes, she saw for the first time that maybe this man was not as oblivious as he had otherwise seemed. "For your understanding."

They danced in silence a while longer as the other couples joined around them. Carthrine felt her feet, wedged into the high boot of a narrow heel, slowly begin to ache, but the warrior within her would not let her return to her seat so quickly. She decided to speak again.

"How fares your younger brother? The one I have yet to meet?"

"Loki?" Thor seemed surprised, but quickly composed himself. "Forgive me. I forgot that you have not seen him yet. He has been in foreign land on business and returns sometime tonight, but…"

"Ah," she said in understanding, "So he shall not be attending these festivities?"

"Most likely not," he confirmed, "For my brother is not quite the type to enjoy such proceedings. After his arduous journey, the thing he is most want to do is-,"

"-to dance with a beautiful princess, as it were."

She turned, and he was there.


	2. Chapter 1

When the phrase "Thor's brother" had reached Carthrine's ears for the first time, she would not deny now that her first thought was of a shorter, skinnier, more rambunctious version of the elder god himself. Someone just as boisterous and maybe as equally reckless, with a just-sprouting beard and tangled blonde hair that screamed "_rag tag warrior_!" at the top of his lungs.

The man that stood before her, then, could not have surprised her more.

Tall, was the first thing she noticed, and lean, genuinely lean, clad head to toe in (her breath hitched again) black matte armor. His hair held no hint of gold or bronze as the others; instead, it was the color of shadows, slicked firm against his head and ending below his shoulders.

And his eyes. Oh _Hel_, his eyes. Carthrine grew faint. Crystal blue. Raking over her slowly. All of a sudden, Carthrine felt very, very naked, and her slowly building confidence was dashed so strongly, she leaned hard on Thors arm to keep herself steady.

"Brother!" Thor's face showed bewilderment, followed swiftly by a shocked and hearty grin. "I thought that you were insisting upon your rest."

"Ah, but that was before the news of our honored guest had reached me." His words were like silk, or satin, or anything else that was smooth and dusky and liquid against her ears. "That would deprive her most grievously, would it not? I hope you have not exhausted her, brother. She seems more than faint."

Upon noticing her visible weakness, Carthrine immediately straightened herself, returning to her correct posture with as much dignity she could muster.

"Prince Loki," she said, bowing her head gracefully, "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure, my princess, is very much mine," he responded, stressing each syllable as he reached for her hand. Slowly, he drew it upwards, pressing his mouth to her skin languidly. This was a gesture common amongst the royalty of both realms, so Carthrine had grown more than used to the feel of a man kissing her hand. But something about the way his lips lingered over her knuckle made all the hairs on her arms stand on end, as if it was the very first time ever.

Oh yes, she thought to herself. Prince Loki was a charmer in this nest of vipers, it seemed.

Fighting the urge to ask for his lips to be placed much more intimate places, Carthrine pulled her hand back sharply, resisting yet enjoying the feeling of being trapped within his stare. "I fear," she tentatively began, gaining her bearings, "that Prince Loki must be far too tired from his journey to do something as trivial as dance. I am sure he needs his rest, in his current delicate condition."

He immediately understood the jab, and made a point of taking her hand back again, more forcefully, with a strength that let her know she was helpless.

"_Lies and slander_," he hissed through his smile. And without a second glance behind her she was out of Thor's arms and his is, the music flaring once again to signal the start of a much swifter, familiar dance.

Carthrine settled into Loki's arms, reminding herself of the feeling of slipping under crisp, silken bedsheets. She let her torso brush against his, his hand creeping up to the small of her back and stroking its curves gently. She knew that they were both being overtly forward, such improper behavior for a prince and princess, but Carthrine did not care in the slightest. And, if his behavior meant anything, neither did he.

"So, my lovely lady Carthrine..." he trailed off, the words twisting off his tongue as he scanned the crowd around them, "How _do_ you find Asgard? Truly?"

She blinked, then laughed, realizing his parody of his brother's words from before. "Much more than what I had expected, in light of more recent developments," she replied. He smirked, and she continued: "So, I must ask you, my prince-"

"If I may be so bold to request the title 'my lord' instead, Lady Carthrine," he interjected and, upon seeing her confusion, added: "I find it a much more... invigorating phrase. Flattering, if you will, more relevant to our statuses."

"Ah," she said bemusedly, "I see. I must admit that is much tamer than what I expected."

His eyebrow quirked up. "Now what would that mean, princess?"

"From what I had judged of your people, **_my lord_**," Carthrine made sure to stress the final words with a hint of teasing sarcasm, "I expected a much more fancier title would be preferable. 'My liege', 'my superior', 'my master', 'my-,'"

"All of which you will call me later tonight, if you wish," he purred in her ear.

Carthrine froze.

In a moment, she realized she could not believe what was taking place in this ballroom, surrounded by people swaying and laughing and paying no attention to the strange girl who was burning in this prince's arms. Everything had been, and still was, moving so quickly, to the point where her heart was pounding with a mix of anticipation and worry. Here was this man, royalty, but still a stranger, treating her like a maiden to be seduced and won. She knew she should not let him have her so easily.

But oh, how she wanted to. How her heart betrayed her face, which was all but cool and collected.

"There is one particular thing," she said when she regained her voice again, "that I have yet to find in Asgard, Prince Loki."

"And what could that be?" he questioned, his face showing genuine intrigue as well as doubt to her intentions.

"A silent place to practice my craft," Carthrine responded, leaning back from his grasp to better view his face. She knew her change of subject required a change in space; they had been much too close, much too intimate… Slowly, Carthrine felt herself spinning back down to reality. "I... miss it, so to speak."

"What would such a craft be, perchance?" he asked, curiosity spreading over his features. Carthrine inwardly noticed how heavily his forehead creased; it was, for lack of a better word, endearing. "I can assure that there must be somewhere here that could satisfy your wishes."

Carthrine thought to herself for a moment, then, with a wickedly mischievous grin, replied "I shall not tell you. It would be much more gratifying for _you_ to uncover what it is through your own skill, would it not? A challenge for what I hear may be one of the most brilliant minds in Asgard."

"Oh," his lips parted, and a smirk of his own appeared on them to mirror hers. "A test of my abilities. I do enjoy those. And what if I win?"

Before Carthrine had the chance to tell the prince exactly what his prize could be, the familiar thump of warriors boots began drifting in their direction. They both paused, aware that their conversation was not one to be overheard, and turned, facing the approaching figure with perfectly calm and collected faces.

"Brother," Thor announced as he stopped short of them, a smile playing on his handsome (in the majority's opinion, that is, not Carthrine's) features, "Please, allow the lady to rest! The Warriors Three wish to make her acquaintance, and it would be a great pity to introduce her if she be any more worn."

Loki immediately opened his mouth to deny the request, but Carthrine jumped in: "Oh, yes. Forgive me, Prince Thor. I fear I have neglected the people who have come on my behalf, and it would be rude indeed to deny them my company."

Her partner shot a questioning gaze at her, but Carthrine did not meet his eyes. She did not want to admit that she felt uncomfortable moving so quickly, so the distraction was a welcome excuse to take a sparing moment to collect herself.

Politely nodding at Loki, Carthrine attempted to detach herself from the grip he had on her arm; however, his hand only tightened.

"Allow me to escort you myself, then, my lady," he insisted, and upon seeing the determination to stay by her side, she did not object. Thor scanned both of their faces intently, then, his cape bouncing with his shrugging shoulders, he led them across the room.

The journey from one side of the hall to the other stretched out in front of her. Carthrine took the walk as the perfect opportunity to think, spacing herself out from the man who was grasping so firmly at her forearm. She had to admit, she was not expecting to find someone so bold, yet visibly composed in comparison to the other Asgardians. Many warriors here, she noted as she scanned the room, seemed already knee deep in drunken stupors, and the few that were sober were obviously married to the women latched to their arms. She began to wonder whether Loki was actually a warrior at all. He might have been something based more on talent, or skill, such as an archer or mage.

She felt his frame, his light footsteps, walking next to hers with a...

Strut?

Yes. She would call it a strut.

And she decided he was definitely a magician.

Where Carthrine came from, magicians had a certain air about them. A pride in their study and hard work, but a demureness that made them seem sensitive in their prowess. Loki lacked the second half of this behavior to a point, but she still ventured so far to say that he was a lot less obnoxious about his talents than the others probably had been. Not once so far has he boasted about his battles, or talked of some great victory over some great distance; no, his attention had been focused on her, and nothing but her, since he walked to her side.

Carthrine heard voices, and she looked up. Her eyes met four others, staring expectantly at her.

"Oh," she said quietly, realizing she had missed someone addressing her. "I apologize. I'm afraid I lost my head."

"Nonsense, madam!" said the soldier closest to her, clad head to toe in silver armor that covered his (pardon her observance) rotund figure. The man reached out, and preparing for the custom, Carthrine extended her hand, which he kissed. She held in the urge to laugh at the way his beard tickled her wrist.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Carthrine!" the man boomed, and, turning to the others, he gestured for them all to gather round. "We are the Warriors Three. I am Volstaag, this is Fandral, and Hogun, and our leader, Lady Sif!" The only girl in their company, a tall, strongly-built woman with an intense stare, chuckled mildly at his comment, then returned to her stoic demeanor just as quickly.

One by one, Carthrine allowed her hand to be taken by each of these gentlemen. The first was Fandral, a wispy man who looked to be the romantic, who lingered for a few moments too long as he kissed her knuckle; the second, Hogun, a dark and serious warrior to the nines whom barely changed expressions. Both of them seemed agreeable, she decided, with good intentions and brave spirits that were just a little too eager for battle.

Carthrine was at a loss what to do once she reached the woman at the end of the line. In a sudden display of boldness, she decided to curtsy, as a maiden would do to a warrior of much higher status. The woman, surprised, bowed her head in acknowledgement, and Carthrine instantly felt as if she were showing respect not often given to a woman who deserved it. Satisfied, she returned to Loki's side, his arm wrapping once again around her own.

"I see my lady and Prince Loki are enjoying their time together thus far," Sif remarked, and Carthrine immediately felt a laugh bubble up in her throat. The awkwardness was back.

"Oh?" Volstaag said, his chest puffing out heartily, "What say you, my lady? Has Loki been charming you with that fabled silver tongue of his?"

Carthrine turned to Loki, whose face had suddenly flushed in embarrassment. "Fabled silver tongue?"

"We should have warned you, princess," Fandral said jokingly, coming over and whispering loudly into her ear, "Prince Loki is nothing but a lying scoundrel! Truly a womanizer in the flesh!"

"Fandral, Volstaag, please..." Loki looked uncomfortable, his free hand moving up to squeeze his temples and hide his face. "Let the lady make her own choices about my character."

"Should I, prince?" Carthrine said, and his eyes found hers again. "Or should I take the advice of your friends? I fear they must know much more about your, as they would most likely put it, questionable intentions than I."

In a moment, the dark and seductive prince from five minutes ago turned to something akin to a petulant teenager, embarrassed by his older brothers in front of a girl he fancied. Carthrine could not believe the change, but, at the same time, saw a genuineness that may have been absent from his previous behavior.

He was just a man, she said to herself, smiling. Just a man at heart.

His hand tightened harder on her arm, a vice-like grip, and he leaned down to her ear. "You do not seem to mind these questionable intentions at all, you little _whore_."

Carthrine could not hold back her gasp.

The others, whom had been distracted by something Thor had said, turned to her quickly.

"What is wrong, m'lady?" Fandral said, concern weaving onto his pointed face.

"N... nothing," Carthrine choked out, straightening up to her full height and, with one hard pull, yanked her arm out of Loki's grip. "I simply misheard something. I fear I must be getting far too tired to continue my presence here."

Thor looked to her, affronted. "But my lady, you have only danced with two-,"

"Let her be, brother," Loki, striding back up to her side, patted an understanding hand on her shoulder. Carthrine mentally recoiled from the touch, but kept steady, forcing a smile onto her face. "The princess has obviously undergone much stress in her appearance tonight. There is no need to trouble her longer."

Stiffening, Carthrine looked to his brother, oblivious to the discomfort that she was writhing in. "Prince Thor, may I ask you to escort me back to my room? I fear I shall forget the way, and I need someone to depend on here in this foreign land."

"Of course, my lady," Thor answered, and, completely unaware of the death stare that occupied his brothers face, took Carthrine's arm and led her out of the room with haste.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Carthrine?"

"What?"

Carthrine started. They had both been walking in calm silence, and his breaking it by saying her name, with no title attached, seemed to shatter it like glass.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, "I forgot my manners."

"No, no. It is perfectly fine," she assured, and they both smiled at each other, in a gentle way that showed that neither had any strong feelings for one another beyond a solid, budding friendship.

"How did you find my brother, princess?" He cut into her thoughts suddenly, and Carthrine felt her whole body tense like a cat whose tail had been yanked. "It seemed that he spent more time talking to you tonight than he has with any other besides myself. I hope you understood his intentions were not to seem sly or unsavory. That is merely the type of person he tries to be."

"Oh..." Carthrine replied, her actual responses tumbling around in her head.

She wanted to tell Thor about what Loki had said, but, upon another few moments of thought, decided against it. It would not be best to cause a rift between brothers. In fact, she was almost sure that Thor would not believe her account at all. Yes, it would be best to just let it be. Maybe she just misheard...

The memory of his voice echoed in his ear.

_Whore._

...No. She did not mishear a word.

"Here we are, my lady." And looking up, there were the large double doors to her room, waiting for her to escape into them. Curtsying to her escort, she quickly opened them and slipped inside, leaving Thor, all smiles, in her wake.


	3. Chapter 2

Stepping into the dimly-lit washroom, Carthrine braced herself against the sink and turned her look of exasperation to the mirror.

Her cheeks were flushed, more than they should have been, like a drunkard who had spent all night celebrating a war triumph. Her hair had kinks in it that she knew had been from the faster dances of the night, ones that she had spent in a certain man's arms that _she would not think about right now._

Forcing herself away from her perch, she flicked a few switches along the eastern wall, all of which held warm water that she hoped would calm her nerves. Slowly, it began flowing into the huge pool that was set in the center of the room, a wide-sitting tub with sloping sides and etchings along the rim. Carthrine traced over the patterns with her trembling fingers; horses, running over a field, the grass carved light into the stone in a way that made her close her eyes and breathe deeply as the grooves graced over her fingertips.

Calm. She was calming down. Slowly, but surely.  
She really had no reason to be so upset, she thought as she broke away from the rim and stepped over it, her legs slipping into the hot water until she finally found a place to sit down. It was not as if the Asgardians were known for their overabundance of politeness, especially when it came to women. Carthrine swore when she came here she would abandon all of her preconceptions about the land and the people that inhabited it; however, she was beginning to feel those old embers of bias flare up into a more solidified tongue of flame.

Or was it jealously?, she pondered, swishing her hair around her shoulders. Could it be that he mistook her politeness to the others as flirtatiousness? Carthrine never really thought herself a flirt when it came to men; she was fairly certain that the only one she had shown any special attention to tonight was Loki himself, unless one counted her escape with his brother at the end of the night as 'flirting'. She didn't think so. It was more selective desperation.

Really, though, she thought. He should not be so presumptuous. If that was indeed the case. He could, in fact, just be genuinely ill-mannered. And rude, she added, and maybe even insolent, with no propriety and more or less acting like a damn-

She checked herself, biting her thoughts off before they could grow any farther. It was not the time to get angry again. Resigning herself to be calm and contained, she sank downwards until the water lapped at her torso, stopping just at the curve of her collarbone, her entire body coming undone as the warmth seeped into her skin. She would think no more of Loki tonight.

That is, until the feeling crept up on her again.

The feeling of being watched.

The instant she felt eyes raking over her skin, Carthrine ducked down into the water, submerging her entire body as her mind began racing at a speed that made her eyes screw up in anger. Because unlike the previous times this week, when she had felt unknown eyes creeping over her skin, this time she recognized the gaze.

That bastard.

Coming back up, she felt the eyes still there, her every move surveyed... and probably, knowing their owner, ridiculed. She knew the nervousness was showing blatantly across her face, and beneath the sound of splashing water, Carthrine could swear she heard a chuckle echoing quietly off the walls.

Oh. So that was the game he was playing. Well, at least she knew he was interested.

As she weighted her options silently, Carthrine realized she had to make one of two very compromising decisions. The first involved making a mad dash for the towels that hung by the door, dressing as quick as possible, and possibly sprinting to Frigga's room to ask for her assistance.

The second option was much more compromising, and also far more daring. Carthrine, if one could say anything about her, could be very daring when it counted. And it would definitely count here.

So he wanted a show?

She would give him one.

In one strong push, Carthrine was sitting on the rim of the tub, completely naked and dripping.

The chuckling stopped almost at once.

Feeling a mixture of both victorious and naughty, Carthrine slowly let her fingers spread across her chest, tracing the water droplets across her skin with the gentleness that she had stroked the carvings not even a moment ago. The hand dipped lower, to her stomach, and in her ears she could almost hear his breath hitching, his mouth probably forming that silent "oh", or maybe even a smirk...

Her hands finally found their mark, and slowly, she began stroking, languidly, up and down, her legs spreading and her body leaning back till she felt her spine form a slender curve. Moans began flowing freely from her throat as she felt warmth slowly build up inside her, not only from the feeling of her stroking or the water that clung around her legs, but from the knowledge that she had an audience that would be losing his calm with her. Unashamed and brave, she threw her head back, picturing him between her legs instead, working magic with that… what did that one soldier call it...

Ah. Silver tongue.

Carthrine shuddered as her pace quickened, and now she imagined him behind her, leaning her over the rim and just taking her roughly and quickly. He would be demanding, and harsh, and smooth, just like Carthrine wanted him to be. Just enough muscle to hold her down and make her beg and-

"O-oh," Carthrine felt her head going dizzy, and she knew that she was close. She felt him following her every movement, her every hitch and moan, and the thought of him seeing her come was actually the one thought that finally pushed her over the edge.

But she would not let him have it.

In a very sudden movement, she slipped off the rim of the tub and back into the water right as she came, her back arching against the marble sidings as the spasms shot through her core. She knew there would probably be bruises all up and down her back from the rim digging into her, but at the moment, really, she did not care one bit. His name escaped through her gasps as she grinned until finally, she quieted, lying still as the stone beneath her as the water churned around her.

She smirked up into the darkness, knowing he had not seen her body as it came. He would have to live with only the image of her face, whispering his name, and deep down she prayed it would drive him to make his next move as soon as possible.

Swiftly, like a veil being lifted, she felt his eyes disappear from her, and the room felt empty and comfortable once again.

Carthrine laughed like a naughty child, she thought, who had just pulled one Hel of a magnificent prank, and sank back into the water.  
Her first battle victory.

And, if this brooding prince had anything to say about it, probably her last.

* * *

The next day.

"Nothing?"

Carthrine paused, then responded. "Nothing."

"I... I cannot deny I felt the same," Thor awkwardly shifted back, his lips still showing signs of the red that had been smeared across them a moment earlier. "I'm sorry I gave you no warning."

"I suppose that this is a normal thing for you?" she responded, one of her eyebrows quirking up.

Thor looked taken aback. "No, no, not customary in the slightest. I just wanted to test...ah..." He leaned backward against the wall, his mind working faster than his mouth. "I mean… May I simply be frank with you, my lady?" Carthrine nodded, and he continued: "I felt as if we had little to no connection my father seemed to wish for us. The only way I could be certain..."

"...would be to grab me by the shoulders and kiss me against a pillar," Carthrine finished.

He fell silent.

The situation had been much less awkward toward the beginning. Carthrine, in lack of a better guide, had asked the prince to walk her around the castle again, showing her the places where she could spend her time. The two had talked amiably, she had thought, but not in a way that showed any inclination that they were more than just acquaintances. At least, until he stopped in his tracks and attacked her.

"Attacked is a bit of a strong word..." Carthrine muttered to herself, before turning her attention back to Thor, who was currently running a hand through his golden hair as he spoke.

"Once again, my lady. I meant no disrespect. I only intended to confirm that you had no feelings for me."

"Well," Carthrine began, and mentally, she chose the route that offered the most gentle of opinions, "I thank you for being frank and honest. I suppose there were few other ways to confirm whether I was truly interested or not."

"It is not often, you see, that a woman such as yourself would not reciprocate." She gave him a warning look, and he immediately clarified: "Not that there is anything wrong with that."

She saw his intentions written in his eyes, and knew he genuinely did not want to insult her. And he was right. He was not a man for her, and she was far from a woman for him. He was too honest, she too guarded, he too simple in his tastes, and her far too complicated. It was not a happy match, and she knew that if her father had actually met Prince Thor, he would agree in a heartbeat.

"Well, let us just hope that your brother did not see it," she murmured before she could stop herself.

"My brother?" Thor questioned, a look of slight skepticism on his face, "Why would you worry about his thoughts, my lady?"

Carthrine chose not to answer truthfully. "I merely wish for him to believe what is best about me. That is all. I mean to remain in the highest regards of all the royalty of Asgard while I stay, nothing more." And she said it in such a way that only a very skilled liar would be able to detect its hidden meaning.

"Ah. Understandable, then." He clapped her on the back, then immediately realized the impropriety of the action. "Excuse me. For a moment I forgot you were a princess and not one of my friends."

"Not a friend?" Carthrine faked a look of offense, amplified by her lips, which were now free of the red she had painted on top of them earlier. "Well, my prince, I fear I have sorely underestimated our camaraderie. I would consider us friends."

He smiled, a genuine smile, that showed he was starting to agree. Wordlessly, he resumed walking, and she followed him.

Their next stop was the song room. This was the final room that remained unexplored, and Carthrine was eager to do so. With a stride that was just a hair too fast to be considered ladylike, she bounded into the room, surrounding herself with the echoing sound of her footsteps against the floor.

The design of the room was brilliant, made to amplify the quietest of melodies to reach everyone within it. The walls were decorated with smooth paintings in dark reds, browns, and golds, glimmering when the light from the large chandelier from above hit them with its yellow rays. There were instruments, some familiar, some foreign, placed in a pattern along the far side, from the smallest which perched on tables to the largest that stood on their own.

But the part that drew Carthrine in was the small platform in the middle. It was a simple stage, with barely any distinction from the floor around it. Yet it still called to her. A familiar tug towards that center position blossomed in her chest, and for now, she ignored it. There would be plenty of time to practice later.

Thor seemed rather out of place, standing quietly by the door as he watched her examine the room, so she returned to his side and took his arm again.

"Thank you, Thor. You have been kind in showing me these places."

"Anything for a friend, my lady," he winked, and her laugh echoed to the crystal above and back down again.

* * *

From his spot on the castle roof, Loki sneered.

The little minx was letting him know she had no interest in that blonde...fool, he decided on. While deep down he knew he should not berate his brother so, it was obvious that he had no clue what the princess's intentions were. Or, more specifically, who they were intended for.

He studied her as she walked among the gardens with him, her burgundy dress catching on the branches every now and then as they made their way down the path. She would stop, untangle them from herself, and hike the lower hem of the gown a little higher until, finally, she tore the bottom half of the dress off entirely and continued walking as if nothing had happened. Loki enjoyed the look of scandal on his brother's face as he followed behind, his blue eyes avoiding the inevitable wandering to her legs.

She was definitely beautiful, he admitted. Far more than beautiful when compared to his current company. And her mind was refreshingly different when compared to the rest of Asgard, filled with curiosity and eroticism that was almost exotic. Loki was familiar with how Carthrine was probably raised in Vardheim, surrounded by immaculate decorum, yet encouraged to free herself from the confines of such base desires and pursue much darker ones. Her intelligence and her sex made her an even more intriguing girl, one he would much rather figure out himself.

Still. She was far from his level of wit. She had more or less fallen to pieces at his touch, and Loki looked for more resilience than that. She would have to prove herself much more able than the traditional delicate princess. A princess. Loki snorted. How he had found himself attracted to such a thing, he did not know.

He stopped as he recalled last night. The image of her face, contorted with a mixture of passion and playfulness, danced across his closed eyelids. He sank back and remembered vividly each movement, each moment where she was more or less his.

...Well, she proved she had some resilience. And spontaneity, for that matter.

Loki liked spontaneity. It made for the best tricks.


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Note: A big, big thank you to everyone who has read this, and a special thanks to my reviewers, who give me hope that this might be going somewhere not suck. XD I won't deny I'm terrified of this chapter, and I hope it worked out in the end. Anyways. On with the show~!

* * *

"Oh, this festival is nothing more than a silly excuse to drain more of our mead, my dear," Queen Frigga answered tersely, her fork stabbing promptly into the remaining piece of meat on her plate. Carthrine turned to her own meal, nodding in understanding; there were plenty of useless holidays in her own homeland, although much fewer when compared to the level which the Asgardians believed was normal.

"But there must be a _story_ behind its title," Carthrine pressed, "The Festival of Dawn. Is it a celebration of the season?"

"No, much darker meaning, I fear," the queen answered, "but very few know or care. The only who would were the gods and goddesses that were alive during the wars with the Jotunn on Asgardian soil-,"

Carthrine dropped her fork, curiosity overwhelming her need for food. "There was war _here_ with the Jotunns? Beyond the realm of Midgard?"

"Oh yes," Frigga's eyes clouded over, as if remembering something usually stored at the very back of one's memory, something only fit to be thought of in the deepest hours of night. "Their quarrels originally began with us here. Back when they were in full possession of the Casket of Ancient Winters and would wield it against us quite viciously. The festival was a day of remembrance for the first act of heroism in those dark, dark times." She gently trailed off, as if trying to the best way to word her upcoming story. Carthrine waited patiently in her seat, sipping from a glass of bitter red wine that seemed to set the tone of the tale on its own.

"There was a girl," Frigga began, reminding Carthrine of a bedtime story, "a young servant girl who had fallen asleep against a tree near the southern border of our great city. A garden so beautiful and serene I can very well understand her blunder." Here, the queen chuckled, which brought a similar smile to her company's face. "Well, the girl was awakened to the sound of marching and pounding, the sound of trees in the distance collapsing one by one. And through the remaining trees, as the sun rose on the horizon, she saw the shadow of the approaching Jotunn army."

"Ah," Carthrine said, "So she was a martyr. The first to die for her kingdom."

Frigga shook her head. "Not in the slightest. The young girl ran as the forest fell around her, protecting herself and speeding her gait with the magic she learned from her master. Truly an impeccable bit of sorcery on her part. She made it all the way here, to the palace, where the king was able to rally his forces in time to meet their threat."

Carthrine felt warmth in her stomach, a friendly, familiar warmth that reminded her of the heroines she loved on Vardheim. Few women seemed to be given the chance to show their merit here in comparison, and this story (as well as the warrior Sif's, she reminded herself) was a beautiful exception; she found herself congratulating the girl silently for her bravery even though she knew it would not be heard. "And what was her fate?" she asked. "Did she receive anything in return for such bravery and skill?"

"Well, the king provided her a new dwelling, with a family of powerful sorcerers for her to practice with," the queen continued, "and a promised spot on his personal staff as a general in his army. However, she chose otherwise by then. She left Asgard for some reason or another and has never been seen since."

Frigga rose from her chair. "But enough of history, and more of the looming present. I fear I must rejoin my husband, as he will no doubt wish to be part of the festivities. I pray you find something worthwhile to do as the rest of us collapse around you in a drunken stupor."

Laughing, Carthrine rose as well, curtsying quickly before following the queen out of the dining room. If there was one thing she could not imagine, it was both Odin and Frigga drunk.

As Thor often dined with his warriors, and Odin as often with his personal guards, and Loki, who seemed to avoid social interaction altogether, Carthrine found herself turning to Queen Frigga as her source of company for dinner each day. It wasn't a matter of simply wanting female companionship; rather, Carthrine would much rather learn about Asgard from its (more or less) most reliable source. Knowing a culture's customs and attitudes was one thing; learning the why behind them, the history they stemmed from, was by far another. Piece by piece, Carthrine tried to fill as much as her mind would allow with the many stories Frigga would tell her each evening, hoping it would grant her a better understanding as to why this land was considered to be the very essence of 'peace'.

She would write to her father sometime tomorrow, she decided as she continued her walk back to her room, and tell him of her efforts. It would make him at least a little happy to hear she was trying her best.

As the door to her chambers swung open, her small gaggle of handmaidens, being Rionne, Selkynne, Marian, and Clarin, rushed dutifully up to her upon her entrance.

"Is my lady attending this raucous festival of muscle-toned warriors tonight?" Rionne asked politely, the look in her eyes betraying her disapproval; Selkynne stifled a high-pitched laugh against the back of her hand.

"I might as well attempt _some_ civility, much less than what you have offered them. Wench." Carthrine sniffed haughtily, maintaining her composure long enough for Rionne to look genuinely offended before bursting out into laughter herself. The girls all lost their propriety then, behaving as old friends together for the first time in years.

Which, in all actuality, they were. Carthrine's current handmaidens were introduced to her when she had just breached childhood, and, all being of the same age, the camaraderie they had formed between one another was a truly unbreakable force. Rionne was Carthrine's voice of unreason, Selkynne her tutor on patience, and Marian and Clarin her co-conspirators on many an ambitious project.

Fondly, Carthrine recalls the times where she had wished these amazing women would be her equals. But blood, she knew, had to be blood, and they had never held her status against her. Not once. And for that, Carthrine would always be grateful.

"Oh, and by the way," Rionne produced a letter from her sleeve with her mistress's name written in careful script across it, "Tall, dark, and marginally-handsome-but-far-too-busy-brooding left this for you not a moment ago. We have greatly resisted the urge to read it, so you may as well do us all a favor and tell us what it says."

Carthrine took the message, gently opening its folds to reveal a short, yet beautifully scribed letter. She read:

"My princess, I inquired of my mother what your plans for tonight might be, and she has given me sound assurance that you will be doing nothing worthwhile thus far. I beg you, instead of galloping around on my brothers arm (however tempting it may seem, believe me, he is hard enough to stomach sober), for your accompaniment in my own celebration of this grand holiday. The choice is entirely yours. Your prince and-,"

Here Carthrine began laughing so harshly and abruptly, she was unable to continue reading. The maids looked startled.

"What is it?" Marian said, clipping the message out of Carthrine's hand and reading it aloud herself. "Your prince and personal voyeur, Loki." She turned to Rionne. "What does _voyeur_ mean?"

Rionne did not answer, merely quirking an eyebrow to her mistress that promised questions to be asked later, a look to which Carthrine grinned sheepishly. "Well, then. You have a date. And it is our job to see you ready."

Gathering herself once more, Carthrine nodded, and proceeded to follow her maidens into her dressing room, ignoring the giggles of the younger two as they skirted behind her happily.

Tonight was going to be much, _much_ more fun than she expected.

* * *

Loki checked the sky again.

Black, still black. Far enough from dawn that he needn't worry. But still, the wait outside this woman's room was beginning to scratch at his nerves with each passing moment. While his mother, if she even knew he was there, would chastise him for being impatient, Loki expected the princess to be a little more… eager, so to speak. And thus ready at a much faster pace.

He checked the sky once more.

Finally, as if the darkness was an answer to a question he had been holding since his vigil began, he knocked heavily on the door. Within moments, it was opened.

"My mistress is nearly ready, your highness," the young blonde maiden said, her voice sounding as light as harp strings as she bowed her head in reverence.

"I fear that I must hurry our dear princess along myself, else I be waiting here all night. Excuse me." And without a word being allowed in edgewise, Loki pushed his way past the open-mouthed handmaiden and into the room.

Carthrine looked abruptly up from her position in front of the mirror. Luckily, she thought, she was fully dressed (_this time_, her inner self hissed, and she stifled the blush from creeping up her cheeks). She was wearing a simple black gown, one that fanned out from her ankles into a wide oval across the floor. Her hair was being secured to the back of her head in a tight ponytail by Rionne, who was staring at the prince in a blend of shock and approval. She observed the look that the two royals were giving one another, and immediately decided that this was not the time and place for her nor her friends. Her mistress would want to be left alone.

"I believe you are finished with my part in your preparation, my lady," she said carefully, and motioned for the other handmaidens to follow her out, quickly, as if a second longer would cause the floor to fall out from under them.

When the room was filled once again with silence, Carthrine turned herself around on her chair to face the prince head-on.

"A few moments, my lord, for me to finish?" she asked, gesturing to the contents of the table beside her. Loki settled against the wall, his impatience masked flimsily as he tapped his foot against the stone ground.

Suppressing a giggle, Carthrine turned back to her things. A long brush was sitting out, prepared for her by Selkynne; grabbing it by its handle, she swept it across her cheeks, her pale skin gaining a hint of pink with each stroke. The irony was not lost on her as she realized the pointlessness of the routine; she would be blushing enough tonight, she thought, without any help. Placing it back on its stand, she continued with her practiced hand, painting small swirls across her eyelids in the way she had been taught as a girl. Blacks, so many different shades of black, yet all coming together to form a shadowed painting across her face, one that she was proud of being able to produce under the pressuring gaze of the man behind her.

She picked up another brush, this one smaller and thinner, and held up two creams, showing them to the petulant prince. "Red, or purple?" she inquired, motioning to her lips.

"Purple," he answered almost immediately, his eyes meeting hers.

Smirking, she dipped the brush into the red.

"Princess, you are far too difficult for your own good," he expressed, screwing his eyes up to the ceiling, the perfect mixture of amusement and annoyance. "Now put on the other or else I will be forced to wipe that red off your lips myself."

"And who is to say that you would not have done so anyway, no matter the color?" she asked, innocence nearly dripping from her words as she turned back to the mirror.

"_With me, darling, there are rarely such guarantees_."

The words came from so close to Carthrine's ear that she jumped, dropping her brush and paint to the floor in an unnaturally loud clatter. He was beside her, and his hand grabbed hold of her jaw roughly as he pressed his lips onto hers.

After a brief moment, the shock subsided, and Carthrine kissed back.

_I cannot believe this is happening._ Those were the words stamped across the back of her eyelids as she pushed into him with the same roughness he was forcing onto her. His lips parted, their kiss deepended further, and their faces seemed to mesh; and, once Carthrine had regained control of the rest of her limbs, so did their bodies. With a swift jerk she pressed herself onto him, her entire form shifting them roughly across the room until she felt his back hit the chamber wall with enough force to clank their teeth together.

"This won't do," she heard him murmur, and with a tug, spun her around so she was the one pinned to the stone, unable to do anything but allow him to ravage her with his-

_Silver tongue,_ her mind screamed, and yes, this was more or less just as amazing as she dreamt it to be. His kisses travelled down her jaw, sucking on the soft of her neck, then back up again, until Carthrine was lost in a sea of warmth where she couldn't even tell where his mouth was.

Then, just as abruptly as it began, he pulled away, his knee still holding her fast in place.

"I want to apologize for my previous insults, my lady," he said plainly, his eyes devoid of any kind of fluster. Secretly she hated him for it, but then his words finally registered in her head.

"Oh," she managed to gasp out, "Um, then, you have my forgiveness."

He smiled. "Whore was not the word to describe what you are, especially when you would give yourself up _so_ enthusiastically."

Well at least h- **wait**.

His eyes grew unbearably dark.

Carthrine attempted to jerk away, but his hands lashed out and held hers tight, and the pressure she felt from his knee increased till she felt herself hiss in pain. Still, even as she struggled, she could not arch away from his mouth as it pressed back onto her neck, muttering into her skin.

"At least whores ask for payment." His tongue licked experimentally up her throat, and she stilled, her breath completely halting at his touch. Gently, he began kissing the outside of her ear, as if nothing had been said, and for some stupid, stupid reason, Carthrine told herself, she did not want him to stop. "What word would you believe is better fit?"

What was this man? What was he thinking?_ What in hells name was he doing with her earlobe?_ Carthrine tried to draw herself away from him, to think, to try and understand how someone could seem so willing one moment and then completely demanding and cruel and vulnerable the next. Or…

Carthrine felt as if it were a bolt of lightning hitting her skull.

_She was his equal_. And he was doing everything, everything in his power to shove her as far as he could beneath him using all the strengths he had and in _every way he possibly could_.

She was a princess, he a prince. Both of high intellectual standing. Both with developed, unique talents. Both physically appealing to the right eye. Equals, in every sense of the word, but that was far from what Loki wanted.

And just sex, she recognized, would never be enough. Allowing him to have her was not the victory he wanted; no, he wanted her to feel like a nonentity beside him, or rather, under him, like an obedient servant who should be honored that his attention ever graced her way.

He wanted power over her. He wanted to _rule_ her.

Her mind was forming words for her, though, and before she could think them through, they were there, escaping from the haze that was her judgment and into the air.

"Slut." she whispered, the Midgardian word heavy on her tongue.

He paused, easing back. "What?"

She looked him in the eye, saw the pain and lust and that everlasting demandingness, and, lacking malice or even hesitation, said:

"I would say... I am a_ slut_. I have no doubt you know what that means, being as well-read as you are."

His grin. His wicked, wicked grin. It overtook his face along with a passion Carthrine could not believe.

"Much better, don't you agree?"

And once again, their lips met, and she knew she was lost, had lost. For if there was ever a battle to be won, she realized, it was merely one of time. How long it would've taken her to fall for him, and how long this prince's patience would have lasted. Every kiss and every touch was suddenly weighed down with the thought that she was making some grand mistake, a mistake of a thousand lifetimes, as well as the knowledge that she would do nothing to change her path in the slightest. Armed with her willingness, he kissed harder, faster, until-

"Come," he said, pulling away; Carthrine nearly resisted, but allowed him to slip out of her arms reluctantly. "We are going to miss the dawn."

His hand grasped hers, tight fingers around her own that spelled_ no escape tonight_, and she followed him from the room without a single glance back at her reflection.


End file.
